When The Rooster Kills (A Rainy Day Mystery Book 2) Page 5

I’d called Gunnar immediately, explaining rather cryptically that I needed his help in town. I didn’t want to get into all the details over the phone. And, true to his nature, he’d asked no questions, telling me he’d be there in fifteen minutes.

  He made it in ten. After parking his car behind mine on the street, I’d told him Vivian’s stepsister hadn’t come home from an errand and that she’d asked me to go and look for her. We hashed out the details as we walked.

  “Not if she’s really missing,” I pointed out.

  We’d walked one length of the main drag in Latney, passing the bank, shuttered because it was Sunday, and closing in on Toby’s Market, the local grocery. The lights were on and a few cars were in the parking lot, indicating it was still open.

  The automatic doors slid open and Gunnar and I entered the store. The smell of fresh bread and fried chicken wafted over us, and my eyes immediately turned to the bakery and deli area, stocked with fresh-baked items and made-from-scratch salads and soups. Even though it was close to closing time and nothing new had probably been baked or made for hours, the smells still lingered, as if they were permanently infused into the walls and air of the tiny market.

  “What was she getting here? At the store?” Gunnar asked.

  He was dressed in his usual uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. Even on the hottest of days, I never saw his bare legs. It was a shame, really.

  I rattled off the list Vivian had recited and Gunnar made a face. “I can see why she might not come back if she was expected to eat that kind of stuff.”

  “They were Vivian’s groceries, not Leslie’s,” I reminded him.

  “Yeah, but if she’s buying them for her sister’s house, she’s probably thinking she’s going to have to eat that stuff.”

  “She’s staying with her dad, not Vivian.”

  Gunnar snorted. “Well, maybe just the idea of buying such garbage scared her off.”

  I smiled. There were a few things I’d learned about Gunnar since moving to Latney. He was kind and charismatic and charming as heck. He’d help first and ask why later. And he was one hundred percent a salt of the earth kind of guy.

  Considering the fact that I’d turned up my nose too over Vivian’s grocery list and lunch from earlier that day, I was thinking we were probably made from the same cloth.

  We walked the aisles, nodding and smiling at the few locals who were doing their weekend grocery run. The faces looked familiar to me, but Gunnar actually knew all of them, and stopped for a minute to talk to one gentleman, something about a truck transmission. I wandered further ahead, searching for signs of Leslie, finally ending up at the one open cash register at the front of the store.

  A young woman in her twenties stood behind the register, a friendly smile on her face, chewing a piece of gum the way a cow chews its cud. Slowly. Methodically. I’d only seen her there once before, but I usually shopped during the day so perhaps she worked the later shifts.

  “Can I help you?”

  I realized I was standing there staring at her, with nothing to purchase.

  “Oh,” I said, blinking. “I was just wondering if you’ve seen someone.”

  Her face screwed up in confusion. “I’ve seen lots of people today…”

  “Right, right. I’m looking for a girl who was running errands about an hour ago. Long brownish-red hair, green eyes.” I thought for a minute. “She was probably wearing a denim skirt and black tank top.”

  The cashier’s eyes narrowed. “Leslie?”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling. “You know her? She was here?”

  “I know her.” Her tone was clipped. “I’ve known her for years.”

  Of course. I had to remind myself that this was a town of a couple thousand people and that newcomers were rare. Of course this cashier knew Leslie. Everyone probably did.

  Except for me.

  “Right,” I said, forcing a smile. “So did you see her today? She was supposed to come in for some groceries.”

  The girl popped a bubble, then licked the gum off her top lip. “No. I haven’t seen her.”

  “And you’re the only one working the registers tonight?”

  “Yeah. Justin was supposed to work, too, but he was out fishing and took a hook to his finger.” She rolled her eyes. “Had to go in for stitches.”

  “That sounds painful.” I paused. “So no one would have checked out over the last couple of hours unless they came to your register.”

  “Yeah.” She frowned. “Unless they were stealing stuff.” The implication was there; she wouldn’t put it past Leslie to do something like that.

  I didn’t blame her.

  “Okay, well, thanks.”

  I turned to go and Gunnar was standing behind me waiting, his eyes on me and a smile on his face.

  I glanced away. The way he looked at me sometimes was unnerving. Not in a bad way. I just wasn’t used to being looked at…appreciatively. Almost hungrily. I didn’t know what to do with it.

  So I did what I always did.

  Nothing.

  “Um, nothing here,” I said, knowing I was being vague. I didn’t want to give any ammunition to the cashier that might then be used as gossip later.

  Gunnar took the hint. “See you, Casey,” he said to the girl. “Tell your dad I plan to come by soon and check out the pole barn, see how it’s holding up.”

  She nodded and smiled, a much more genuine one for him, and we left the store.

  “Pole barn?”

  Gunnar grinned. “Yeah, we put it up a few months ago, right after winter when the ground thawed.”

  “You built it? A building?” I knew he could assemble chicken coops but an entire building was impressive.

  “It’s not so much building as assembling,” he said. “So what did you find out about Leslie? Anything?”

  “The cashier—Casey—hasn’t seen her. And she’s the only one on register tonight.”

  We got to the end of the block and crossed the street. The sun had set behind the foothills, but the sky was tinged yellow-orange, and I knew we still had a little bit of daylight before darkness set in.

  “So she didn’t go?”

  I shrugged. “I guess not.” I didn’t mention Casey’s veiled theory, that Leslie might have shown up and just stolen the things on her list.

  “Well, that’s strange,” Gunnar said, scratching his head. “So what now?”

  I honestly didn’t know. I was having a hard time believing that something nefarious had happened to Leslie, but I kept going back to her interaction with Shawn earlier that day. Yes, he’d restrained her, and yes, they’d fought, but there had been something…off about it. I’d never gotten the sense that he was trying to hurt her, and I didn’t believe for one second, beyond that initial reaction from Leslie when she first saw him, that she was afraid of him.

  “I guess we keep looking?”

  “Alright.” He started walking again. “I can think of worse ways to spend a Sunday evening than being out for a walk with you.”

  My heart hiccupped a little and I swallowed down the butterflies that were trying to take flight. It was a simple statement, but coming from Gunnar, it felt huge.

  “So, tell me,” he said as we walked past Sophia’s boutique. It was closed, just like I thought it would be, a single row of lights on in the front to illuminate the window display. “Why are you the one out looking for Leslie? I didn’t realize you and Vivian were tight.”

  “We’re not,” I admitted.

  He looked puzzled but said nothing.

  “I…she called and asked for some help and I thought I should come.” I knew I was being vague.

  “Well, that was mighty nice of you,” Gunnar said. “So no particular reason she called you?”

  I wondered if he was fishing for information. We’d spent a significant amount of time together over the last couple of months, especially compared to my time spent with other residents of Latney, but the subject of my former job hadn’t come up. He’d never asked, and I’d nev
er volunteered that information. I’d actually been relieved to not have to talk about it with him. After all, I was focusing on my present and my future, not my past, and Gunnar didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t know much about my history. Truth be told, I didn’t know his, either. It just hadn’t come up, and I wasn’t about to ask him questions when I didn’t want to answer the same ones about me.

  I thought for a minute. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to tell Gunnar. But I also didn’t want him finding things out about me from someone else in town, especially when the truth always seemed to be exaggerated.

  I sighed. “I used to work for a PI firm.”

  “PI?” he said blankly.

  “Private investigator.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

  “I was not the private investigator,” I added quickly. “I managed the office. Did paperwork and billing and scheduling, that kind of thing. But I guess word has gotten around and people seem to think I’m some kind of detective…”

  “Including Vivian?” he asked, grinning.

  “Including Vivian.”

  A car drove by and honked, startling me. But it was only Mabel, the ancient powerhouse singer from St. Simon’s who’d made Declan the pot roast dinner, cruising by in her silver Oldsmobile. Her head was almost level with the steering wheel and I had no idea how she managed to see out the windshield. Maybe that was the reason she was driving so slowly—because she actually couldn’t.

  We waved back and her taillights disappeared down the road.

  “Well,” Gunnar said, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I can see why she’d want to call you.”

  “Why? I have no skills. I’ve never looked for a missing person in my life.”

  “But you’re familiar with the process,” he said. “You probably picked up a lot working there. And you do have some experience.”

  I stopped and stared at him. We’d almost made a full loop back to Vivian’s street. “Experience? Like what?”

  He chuckled. “Weren’t you the one who figured out your own case? The bones and the fire?”

  I shifted my gaze so I was staring at the sidewalk. I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. I had been the one to figure things out about Davis Konrath. Not because of any amazing skills, I reminded myself. I’d just been nosy and asked questions and had sort of been like a dog with a bone, gnawing and gnawing, refusing to give up.

  Those weren’t skills. That was pure determination and stubbornness.

  Inwardly, I smiled. Those were the same traits that Mack Mercy had that made him so good at what he did.

  “I guess,” I finally admitted.

  We turned the tree-lined corner and the canopy of leaves shrouded us in darkness. Crickets chirped and cicadas hummed, and the smell of burning wood filled my nostrils. Someone was having a campfire.

  “What are you going to tell Vivian?” Gunnar asked.

  “I’ll tell her that the cashier didn’t see Leslie,” I said. “And that we didn’t see her anywhere else downtown.”

  “Should we look other places, too?” It was his turn to pause and I could see the wheels turning as he thought about the darker possibilities. “There’s a lot of property here in Latney, especially on the outskirts of town. Abandoned buildings and the like.”

  I didn’t know. Part of me felt guilty, coming back to Vivian’s so quickly. Should we look longer, harder? But another part of me thought it was futile. Leslie was a petulant teenager; for all we knew, she’d decided to skip back out of town completely. Being gone for an hour or so did not a missing person make.

  But I still had this nagging sensation that I was missing something, that I needed to look closer at her and Shawn’s interaction from earlier that day. Something wasn’t sitting right with me, but I didn’t know why. He hadn’t come off as dangerous, but what did I know? I wasn’t exactly an expert at reading people.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “This is all new to me. I’m not sure what we should be doing.”

  We were back in front of Vivian’s house. The living room was lit up, and I could see Vivian inside, pacing back and forth. I felt a stab of guilt; she was clearly worried about her stepsister.

  I scanned the front yard, and then the driveway. Leslie’s car, an old Toyota Tercel, was still there. It was rusty, and the front driver’s side sported a huge dent. A long, jagged crack splintered the entire length of the windshield.

  If she’d wanted to take off for good, wouldn’t she have taken her car? I would have, but then again, I wasn’t Leslie.

  Movement by the back bumper caught my eye and I stiffened, trying to get a better look. I caught a flash of white, then a muffled sound as something fell to the ground.

  I headed toward the car, Gunnar on my heels.

  “Leslie?” I said, moving closer. I could hear someone breathing, then a hiccup.

  “Leslie?” I repeated. “Is that you?”

  I rounded the passenger side of the car and gasped.

  Someone was indeed crouched down by the back bumper, their white shirt clearly visible in the glow of the houselights, panting and out of breath.

  But Leslie wasn’t the one staring up at me.

  It was Mikey.

  ELEVEN

  “I can explain,” Mikey insisted.

  Gunnar had hauled Mikey out from behind the car and pinned him against the passenger side. He wasn’t rough with him, but his expression and demeanor were firm. He wanted to know what was going on. Now.

  And so did I.

  “So explain,” I said.

  Mikey ran a hand over his buzzed head, over and over, as though he were trying to smooth down hair that didn’t exist. “I…well, I was walking home and I dropped something. Wind caught it and I thought it might have ended up over here.”

  I considered this. There was a slight breeze—it was the way I’d caught scent of the campfire someone was having—definitely enough to catch and lift a piece of paper.

  “You sure about that?” Gunnar asked. He’d let go of Mikey and was standing directly in front of him, his arms folded, his legs spread apart. He looked like a bouncer.

  Mikey swallowed and nodded.

  “Only one problem with that story,” Gunnar said, frowning. “You don’t live on this street. You live behind the tavern.”

  This was news to me. I had no idea where Mikey lived, only that he worked nearly every day and made really delicious hamburgers.

  Mikey’s shoulders slumped and he heaved a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he mumbled. “I didn’t lose anything.”

  “So why are you here?” I asked.

  He leaned against the car. “I…well, I heard about Leslie and thought I’d come over and see if I could help.”

  Gunnar raised his eyebrows. “By lurking around the outside of her car?”

  But I wasn’t interested in that. “What do you mean, you heard about Leslie? What did you hear?”

  He swallowed a couple of times. “Th-that she didn’t come home.”

  Now I was suspicious. “Who told you that?” As far as I knew, this wasn’t common knowledge. I wasn’t even sure if Sophia knew.

  “I overheard someone talking,” he said. “Right before I got off my shift.”

  “Who?” I asked, trying not to get too excited. Just because someone knew that Leslie was missing didn’t mean they knew where she was.

  “Sophia,” he said, and my hopes fell.

  “She was talking to someone about Leslie being missing?”

  Mikey nodded. “Yeah, she and Walter came in for a drink and some chicken wings. They do that some Sunday nights. Anyway, I was bringing food out because Dawn was slammed at the bar and I overheard them talking.”

  It seemed like Mikey had done a lot of eavesdropping that day, I thought, remembering how he’d sort of lingered nearby while I’d been on the phone with Mack.

  “What did she say?”

  Mikey shrugged. “Just that she’d talked to Vivian and how she was worried because Leslie hadn’
t come home.”

  “That was it? Nothing else?”

  He thought for a moment. “Nothing I can think of.”

  Gunnar shifted his feet. He was still positioned in front of Mikey but he relaxed his stance a little. “Do you know Leslie?” he asked.

  Mikey bit his lip and ran his hand over his head again. “I…it’s complicated.”

  “I can make things that are complicated uncomplicated,” Gunnar said. “Try me.”

  “She…she was outside the restaurant today,” he began, and then his voice trailed off.

  I knew what had happened. Leslie had hugged him, holding on for dear life. And I was pretty sure what that might have done to someone like Mikey. A mysterious, beautiful girl, clearly in some sort of distress, had hugged him in broad daylight. Held on to him like her life depended on it. He was probably obsessed with what had happened, and when he found out that she was missing, thanks to Sophia’s big mouth, he probably thought he had the perfect chance to be a hero to her once again.

  “So you came here and you were looking for…?” I said, still trying to get a handle on what exactly he was doing in Vivian’s driveway.

  “Clues,” he said, straightening up.

  “Clues?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  I stared at him. “Did you find any?”

  He toed the ground. “Well, no. Not yet.”

  I tugged on the door handle next to his hip. It was locked. I leaned close and peered in through the passenger window. The inside of the car was a disaster: empty soda bottles and candy wrappers, a wadded-up sweatshirt, bottles of suntan lotion, a half-eaten bag of Cheetos. It reminded me of what Lucas’ car had looked like when he was still living at home.

  “What did you think you might find?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just thought…well, the TV shows always have people finding clues.”

  “TV shows?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Have you ever watched CSI? I was sick a couple of years back, some flu that took me out for almost a week, and I was laid up in bed. Spent a bunch of time watching cooking shows but then I found CSI on Netflix. Binge-watched for two days straight.”

  I fought back a smile. He thought real-life sleuthing was like CSI. Even with my limited knowledge of what Mack did in the field, I knew Mikey couldn’t be further from the truth.